It Might Just Tear You Apart
by SinisterExaggerator
Summary: Sometimes, it's a bad thing to wake up bound and almost gagged in a strange room with a strange man standing right above you. And in those cases, it's better to be left in the dark.


Ah, hello, my friend. I think a proper salutation might be in order. My name is Ted, and you are going to die. I can see you're not quite brightened by the news—do stop squirming. I'm sure you're aware that there's a reason for these restraints. Besides, it won't do you any good; the leather always chafes them a little more each time. Now, before we start, I should probably take the time to apologize for that drug in your drink. It's probably not one of the more honest forms of tranquilization, but you must believe me when I say that you would have _hated_ the garrote.

What? Of course I have respect for human life. That's probably half the reason I'm doing this. It's not like I'm doing this for the thrill. Huh, and I would thought such a pronouncement would have calmed you down. Please, try and keep still. My mother welded together this table for me herself, and if there were any other purpose she had besides the obvious one, it wasn't for it to get destroyed by a young man with the heebie-jeebies. There we are, now.

You're feeling rather inquisitive today, aren't you? Well, I guess I'll humor this one, if only to make you feel more relaxed, to cool you down. Chances are you haven't been in this type of situation before. Not that that isn't logical. It's one of those you can only go through once, after all. I think you might have hit the very meat of it all with that question: just why exactly am I doing this?

I'm just going to say that there are two reasons I can think of at this moment, one nobler than the other, but both simultaneous—kind of like two stories intertwining. I'd tell you to think of yourself right now as just exiting a story, but I'd really hate to see you squirm. Some metaphors just should not be. But where was I? Ah, yes.

You see, you're not the only one in this room interested in asking questions. I didn't always go to public school. For the first, let's say, fifteen years of my life, this was where I spent my school days. If that comes across as a complaint, it isn't. Homeschool meant I wasn't bound by a curriculum. Make no mistake: I still had to know X, Y, and Z for the state tests, but I'm not talking about minimums here. Maybe you can see it through that window on the door, but that over there is what possibly the largest study I've ever come across. I can't speak for you right now—nor can you, but gags will usually have that effect—but it's up there. My grandfather Clinton was a collector of rare books the world over, and the not-so-rare ones, as well. Every practical skill I ever needed—or could ever think of—was in there somewhere.

That was pretty fitting, since my parents and I lived and breathed the do-it-yourself ethic, possibly pushed it past its limit. Everything we did was by ourselves: made records, delved into woodworking, metallurgy, and so on. And so I taught myself many things that my parents couldn't. Medieval Latin, applied chemistry, art history, the finer points of arm wrestling—well, that one I got a few tips for from my father, but you get the picture. I switched to public school for the acquaintances, but I kept it up at home; Lawndale High work was relatively easy, maybe even facile, compared to that, so I could cope.

Then came one day when I came upon _Gray's Anatomy_. Not the series—that's actually one of the reasons my folks held off on a television. It came of some use with the arm wrestling, helped me to find the weaker points of the human arm, but I suddenly realized something: how was I going to practice that? I had thoughts about the future; I saw myself somewhere in medical research, maybe saving lives along the way. What was the disadvantage of a head start? I asked my parents, and of course they were supportive of it. They went to Cedars of Lawndale and tried to procure a cadaver. If those two have a fatal flaw, it's honesty, because when they said it was for their sixteen-year-old son, they were laughed out of the room. At least, by the ones who weren't shuddering. By the look of it, I think you might fall into the latter category. I think I'll just slip in another answer to a question I think you're wondering, and it's yes, this…is going exactly where you think it is.

Don't get me wrong—it's not like they agreed to this arrangement at first, if that's what you can call it. I hadn't even thought about it. Well, not "hadn't". Maybe it crossed my mind at some time or another, but just at the absolute last resort. The trouble was, that last resort eventually did come around, just not quite where I thought it would be.

Remember a few years back, when Hurricane Jacob just bounced off the coast? We avoided disaster, but not the torrential downpour, and even less all the vehicular damage. For some reason, drivers can't seem to tell the difference between rain and nitrous oxide, much less when they're singing. And my family's preference for doing it ourselves expanded to food, so we had gardens for each of the Three Sisters, that is, corn, squash, and beans. The beans were in the front yard. So were the skid marks from all the australopithecine drivers making their way, joined by a heap of rain. In short, there went the beans, and there went all our protein.

I can see that look in your eyes again. Again, the choice was a difficult one, no doubt about that, but they were just too proud to be seen in a market. The closest livestock was in Fremont, and for two people who insist on walking until they invent a fully electric car, that was a long way to go. And, well, to be honest, this type of meat would be unbelievably organic.

I think it might be hard for you to grasp it all right now. Just think of it as enriching, maybe saving lives—definitely mine and my parents', but maybe, just maybe, a couple in the future. It makes one despondent to think of giving it all for something they will never see, hear, or feel, and it's just as awkward for the one observing it all. There's really not much consolation I can give you right now, other than the fact that despite all appearances, I have no vendettas. I think there's a very simple way of summing it all up, maybe one that will sound very familiar. My name is Ted, and you are going to die. Just breathe in and out, in and out, in and out…


End file.
